


Determinate

by AFireInTheAttic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Lemonade Mouth - Fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFireInTheAttic/pseuds/AFireInTheAttic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They need a bassist; Kira needs a band. If they can work together, they might have a shot at beating Jackson Whittemore in the battle of the bands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Determinate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penisparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penisparker/gifts).



> penisparker asked, “a band band where like theresssss isaac and lydia and ugh whOEVER but theyre missing a bass player and an extra singer so kira auditions and scott falls in love thank u”
> 
> yeah okay i can do that…Only it has to be like LEMONADE MOUTH

Being the daughter of a teacher is weird, but the weirdest thing is how she ends up spending two extra hours at the school, after the bell has rung. Technically, she could take the bus, but it seems a waste when her dad’s car is working just fine, and it smells fine, too.

Right now, her dad is grading tests and she’s slumped across a desk in his classroom, stuck somewhere between sleep and being awake. 

A crash of symbols wakes her all the way up, though, and she nearly stands at attention. “What?”

Her dad looks up from his papers. “Oh, some kids are in detention with Ms. Blake. I think she likes them to serenade her.”

The music floating down the hall is  _all right_ , but something is definitely missing. Like a bass line. Her fingers itch to strum something with them, but she left her guitar at home, and it’s probably not an open jam session.

She slumps forward again. “‘Kay.”

* * *

The next day, there’s a poster advertising a battle of the bands four months from now. 

"I wouldn’t bother entering," a voice said breezily behind her. "My band always wins."

She glances back, raising one eyebrow at the  _obvious_  tool standing behind her. “Who are you?”

He looks surprised for a minute, like he doesn’t understand how someone could  _not_  know him. “Are you new here, or just an idiot?”

She wonders if that should insult her.

"I’m  _Jackson Whittemore_ ,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning into her space. “And my band is the best.”

"Dude, chill," another guy says as he comes up behind  _Jackson Whittemore_. “She’s not challenging you. You’re not, right? Because I don’t really want to deal with his whining.”

She shrugs. She’d have to get a band together by then, and to do that, she’d have to know musicians, and to do that, she’d have to have friends. Which she doesn’t.

She thinks about the band she heard playing last night. They might have a chance, if they had a bass player. And  _she’s_  a bass player. But she doesn’t actually know who they were, so there goes that.

_Jackson Whittemore_  huffs and storms off. His friend smiles and waves before following him.

Well. Some people seem pretty okay.

* * *

This afternoon, when she hears the same band, she leaves her dad’s room and creeps down the hall to lean close to the open door. The band seems to be improving, and when she peers around the edge of the door, she sees that the teacher—Ms. Blake, her dad said?—isn’t even in the room.

She leans further in and sees a blonde girl keeping the rhythm on a snare drum, though she occasionally leans over and hits the huge bass drum. She looks like she’s used to playing on a set, but the band class here is probably too small to bother with one, so she’s making do.

A blonde boy is playing the piano. He’s hunched over with posture that indicates a less than stern teacher, but his fingers are flying and he’s  _good_.

A redheaded girl has dragged a stool over to the piano and is singing a jaunty tune about finding dead bodies on the way to her calculus exam. Kira wonders if she’s making the words up on the spot, or if this is a song she’s written and memorized. She’s not holding a notebook, and her eyes are closed while she sways.

The final person is playing an acoustic guitar and grinning adorably at the girl’s strange lyrics. He’s mostly improving rhythm, but occasionally, the girl will nod at him, and he’ll improv a quick bridge between her verses.

They’re really good, and really  _happy_.

And the guitar player is really cute. She feels kind of fluttery.

A hand comes down on her shoulder. “Do you play?”

She jumps and glances back at the smiling woman standing just behind her. “Um. Yes.”

"What instrument?"

"Bass," she says, and the woman’s eyes glint near dangerously. 

"Perfect," she murmurs, and propels Kira into the room. "Hey, you rascals, quit playing for a minute."

They immediately stop and look up at her.

The redhead eyes Kira with vague disinterest, and the two blonds offer her vicious grins. 

There is no world in which Kira tries to find the courage to look at the cute guitarist’s perfect, crooked jaw, or his finely coiffed hair, or the dimples on both sides of his smile.

Or maybe there’s not a world where she can keep her eyes off him. It’s kind of all the same—she looks ridiculous and awestruck; he looks perfect.

"I found you a bass player," the teacher says smugly. "So now you can all start behaving like a real band."

"Not until I have an actual drumset," blonde girl points out. She flashes a toothy grin at Kira. "But more rhythm would be cool."

"But can she play?" the redhead asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Come on, Lydia, don’t be mean," the perfect guitarist says, smiling encouragingly at Kira.

She feels weak in the knees. “Do you have a bass with you? I…mine is at home.”

"Sure!" he answers, setting the guitar down and bouncing to his feet. "There’s one in the instrument room. It’s supposed to be locked, but Ms. Blake breaks us in. It’s probably super out of tune, but—hold on—" He runs across the band room and into what looked like a closet. When he returned, he was holding a black and white bass that was obviously not well cared for. 

She takes it from him, feeling the tips of her ears go pink when their fingers brush. 

He smiles encouragingly at her. “Do you need something to improvise with? Or can we just tell you a key and let you start?”

"Play in E," Lydia says immediately. "I want to hear her, Scott, not us."

"Fine, fine," Perfect Boy Who Was Now Called Scott sighs. "Whenever you’re ready."

"Or now," Lydia prompts.

Kira slings the strap around her shoulder and briefly tunes the instrument, just with itself. She can tell it’s still off, but if they like what she does, she’ll tune it to the piano in a few minutes.

It’s always easy to find a rhythm, and she starts in without hesitating, plucking out a calm but quick moving rhythm. It’s nothing special, but she’s consistent, and she can match them, if they’ll let her.

She plays for a couple minutes, not looking up from her hands out of shyness rather than necessity, and then finally finishes up with a quick run down the scale. She looks up. “Okay?”

The drummer grins. “Cool.”


End file.
